Against my better judgment, my husband went to Sears one Sunday morning a few weeks ago and bought the kids a trampoline. We’ve always deprived our kids of so much (*heavy sarcasm*) and husband thought since we never had a swingset, sandbox or anything like that in our backyard, that the kids needed something fun for our big new backyard.
Enter trampoline, stage right.
My kids have spent nearly every waking minute on this darn contraption. Learning flips, doing cartwheels, and playing games I don’t even begin to understand like “Butt Bombs” and “Crack the Egg.” The other night, while Hubby and I were sitting out on the patio watching the kids play, it happened.
“MOM & DAD, why don’t you come jump with us?”
I immediately looked at my husband, and he shook his head. I knew HE couldn’t go on it because of his bad back, so that left me.
ME.
ME–The woman who had given birth to enough children that a hiccup could cause me to wet the bed. A cough, a sneeze, even a turn in the wrong direction… and the floodgates are opening. ME–The woman who has never followed the directions of any doctor or any pregnancy books regarding those darn Kegel exercises* suddenly has regret. (*Men, if you don’t know what these are, google it.) And they are expecting me to JUMP UP AND DOWN… and LIKE IT?
I told the kids ‘No’, that I was having much more fun watching, but they were not going to go down without a fight. They wanted to see their mom jump on the trampoline. They begged, they pleaded, and I kept insisting I couldn’t do it, making up excuses.
I’m afraid of heights.
I weigh too much.
There’s already too many of you on there now.
Nah, really… that trampoline is just for kids.
What’s that weight limit again?
Finally, I had exhausted all reasonable excuses, and I was left with no choice. I eeked out an exasperated comment that I knew was going to instill the biggest giggle-fest this small Iowa town had ever heard. I said it so quietly I was hoping the kids wouldn’t even hear me. So quietly that I was really hoping my husband wouldn’t hear either.
But I’ll pee my pants.
What did you say Mom?
I said I’ll PEE MY PANTS!
Let me just say up until now, I have never seen my kids (or my husband) laugh so hard.
I think even the dog, who was mid-poop over by the tree, even cracked a smile.
After that, it became a game between my family & I. A battle of wills. Who could talk Mom into at least trying the trampoline? I argued and fought, and refused to get on that stretchy piece of bladder tormenter.
And then I gave in.
I climbed up onto the trampoline, walking to the middle and bounced a few times, not even letting my feet leave the material. Everything was OK, so I decided to get a little air between me and ‘the tramp.’
The short version of what ensued:
Jumped once.
Jumped twice.
Peed my pants.
In a moment of a complete and total BRAIN FART, I stupidly opened my mouth and confessed to my kids of said pants being peed.
Kids fell to the ground in a fit of hysterical laughter.
Hubby joined them.
I believe I got called “Mommy Pee Pants” at least once.
I sulked into the house and changed my clothes.
Damn Kegel exercises.
THE END
